Loose Thingamabobs
by Uncia
Summary: A collection of ficlets, answered prompts, and miscellany.
Only a day had passed since the battle with the sea witch: one morning full of kisses and of rushed explanations, and one afternoon spent with the palace physician and an overbearing Grimsby. Eric couldn't remember much else. He'd spent the better part of yesterday reassuring the doctor (and Grimsby) that yes, he felt fine, and had refused analgesic teas.

His soreness then had been subtle. Enough to notice through his waning adrenaline, but not enough to ground him in reality. At least after all that happened. One of the many unpleasant side effects of stabbing a giant tentacled monster with a bowsprit.

He awoke in his own bed, heavy with pain, in the haze of dawnlight. Each memory of the battle hid in an ache on his body. The pull in his shoulders wound all the way down his arms and his hands, all from hauling himself aboard the ship in hurricane winds. Pelting waves had left him stiff and bruised underneath his many bandages. He could draw a full breath, at least, with only a small shudder in his ribs.

A small padding sound on the rug distracted him. Eric didn't remember letting Max in or hearing him snore at all last night. But a weight settled on his bed, so he'd weaseled inside somehow.

"C'mere, boy," he tried to mumble, but the words came out garbled against his pillow. He groped along the sheets to find Max's fur, but instead felt a silky cloth between his fingers. And then skin, in the smooth curve of a knee–on a leg that he should not, he realized suddenly, be touching.

He shot up his gaze but couldn't quite meet Ariel's eyes, instead drifting along the gentle wave of her hair, an unreal red which caught the first light of the sun just as it had when she rescued him. The beginnings of what he thought might be freckles dotted her cheeks, some obscured by a scrape on one side. If Eric could speak, he would, but his breath caught in his throat.

She took his bandaged hand and his smile grew with hers. He was in pain, exhausted, starving, confused, lost, and also helplessly in love. When they touched, the last one was all he remembered.

He sat up and summoned all his strength pull her in his arms and kiss, barely meeting her lips, then again and again until every muscle buckled and he slumped forward with a strained groan. He panted into her shoulder, fighting not to lean any weight on her, but she held him in place anyway.

"I love you, too," she giggled, "and I'm glad I didn't listen to Sebastian. Sneaking in _was_ a good idea."

A memory of Grim's remarks about propriety gave him pause, but he lacked the energy to care. Or do anything else. She stacked some extra pillows behind him, and with a wince, he sank his weight into them enough to comfortably sit up. "Guess so. I didn't keep you long?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't have minded if you had. How're you feeling?"

"Sore, to be honest. And still not sure if I'm dreaming." He stared down at his hands, some fingers in thin wrappings, others simply aching. The bandage on his arm had shifted overnight, revealing the tip of a thick red streak. The ship's wood had scraped off the first layers of his skin. Yesterday's shock had blinded him to the extent of his injuries. He wondered what he might see when the bandages came off.

"Did you hear me?"

Eric blinked back to reality. "Oh–I'm sorry. There's just…so many things I'm thinking about. I have so many questions."

"It's fine. I just said I brought you some tea." She slid off the bed and brought the saucer to him. The tea, tasting of willow rather than poppies, washed a warm relief through him, just enough to concentrate.

"Carlotta gave me some this morning. I had a few sips, but I thought you might need it more than I do. Plus I overheard you were a bubblehead and didn't drink yours yesterday."

He choked back a laugh and nearly spat tea all over himself. Ariel had the same biting tone Captain Sayers used when he told Eric off with more colorful language. Whatever that word stood for, Eric probably deserved it.

"I wanted to have a clear head. I thought it might help. But I haven't really…processed much anyway. I don't know what's real and what's not."

"I can understand that a little. I'm still getting used to being on land. It's a lot to take in all at once." She sat with her legs together and curled to her side. Just like a mermaid, Eric thought.

He leaned over and laid his empty cup on the bedside table. "Please–if you have any questions, I'll try my best to answer. Or show you if I can."

"I'd love that. So we'll both have questions." She bit the corner of her growing smirk, giggling impishly, and turned to whisper in his ear, her lips grazing just enough to make him shiver. "See how many we can answer before anyone finds out I'm here."

"Grim's gonna kill me, you know."

"He doesn't have a trident, Eric. The only one who does isn't here, and what Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him."

Eric stared out the window at the sea. Fair, calm weather for now, with only a slight breeze to stir the curtains. He had the fiercest urge to shut those curtains and barricade the balcony for good measure.

But then Ariel rested her head on his unbruised shoulder. Propriety be damned, for this morning and every one she wanted after, until someone caught them and told otherwise. Eric hung his arm around Ariel's waist and leaned further into the pillows.

When his strength returned, he'd raise his hand to stroke her hair, hold her close until sunrise, or walk with her along the shore before anyone else in the palace woke. But not today. They'd have many more mornings like this one.


End file.
